


desire, like a monster

by hathfrozen



Series: Heaven fic verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Study, Codependency, Deleted Scenes, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heaven Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obsession, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Smut, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 16:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hathfrozen/pseuds/hathfrozen
Summary: “Did you know I hated everyone you ever slept with? I wanted….” Sam shuts his eyes, tips his chin back. “I wanted to kill them, Dean. I wanted them dead.”(Deleted sex scene from "because you want to die for love". Can be read as a stand-alone. In Heaven, Sam and Dean discuss what it meant to want each other while they were alive.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Heaven fic verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215590
Comments: 13
Kudos: 130





	desire, like a monster

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairly short talk-it-out-then-sex-it-out scene I removed from my Heaven fic, "because you want to die for love," before publishing because I felt it was too tonally different from the rest of the fic.
> 
> You do not need to have read the first fic before this one, though I obviously encourage that!
> 
> The only context you need to know is that they are in Heaven, they have recently consummated their relationship for the first time, and they appear as their season 2/season 3 selves.
> 
> Title from Siken, as always.

Sam’s sipping a beer and watching Dean refurbish a nightstand when he apparently decides it’s time to talk again. It feels like fall outside now, a cool breeze drying the finish as he paints it on the wood carefully.

“Would you have ever let it happen? While we were alive, I mean.”

Dean sets down the finishing brush. “You say that like it was a one way street. It was you dead set on getting a missus and a couple of kids.” His stomach twists up, old guilt he thinks might not ever go away rising up in his throat.

Sam is silent for so long Dean figures that’s the end of the conversation, and picks the brush back up, watching the way the finish catches the light as he works it on.

When Sam speaks, his voice is quiet and measured, like he’s thought every single word out. “I thought I explained this. If I couldn’t have you, then I wanted something that would make it go away. Something that would fix me. It was never anything more than that. I only wanted you.”

Dean goes still, brush pressed to wood. “I thought—”

Sam continues over him. “If you had said okay, if you’d given any sign we could have this, that would be it. I’d never look anywhere else again. Even if I was with somebody, I’d leave them. I’d leave them without a second glance.”

The finish goes wobbly where the brush is still held the cabinet. Dean’s hand is shaking. “Don’t say that to me,” he gets out, vision blurry.

“Why?” Sam demands, voice rising back up from the near-whisper it’d settled in. “Do you think I’m lying?”

Dean wants to say yes, because that’d be easier. He glares at the grain of the wood in front of him and doesn’t answer.

“Didn’t you know?” Sam asks suddenly, his voice strained. “Oh my God, Dean. What did you think? It was a crush?”

“Sam,” Dean says, voice reedy. “Sammy.”

“Did you think you were just an option? Did you think it was nothing to me?” Sam is shaking. Dean can see it in his peripherals. “Jesus. Dean. Dean. I’ve…I’ve been in love with my brother since I can remember. I’ve wanted you since I knew what wanting was. Do you…” Sam’s takes a shuddering breath. “I drowned in it. Every day.”

“Don’t say that to me,” Dean repeats. He can’t bear it. He can’t bear the overwhelm of the knowledge that if he’d said yes, just once, just like he was dying to—

“You could have had me,” Sam breathes. “You could have had me in a moment. I wanted it so bad. Couldn’t you see that?”

Dean thinks about the way Sam would roll his eyes and purse his lips when Dean would kick him out of a motel room for an hour with some bombshell from the bar. He tries to reconcile that with the nausea and chills that would rock through him when he’d see Sam romancing one of his pretty women, how they’d look at him all doe-eyed, hanging off his arm.

“Dean.”

“Stop,” Dean says softly, closing his eyes.

“Come here.”

Dean’s long since forgotten the name of Sam’s girl, the one he was seeing before Dean died, and doesn’t plan to remember it ever. But he can imagine perfectly, with a sick, twisting sense of victory, her face if Dean took Sam away from her. It mixes up with the face of anyone else Sam has looked at twice, the idea of it so strong behind his eyes, the way they’d look realizing Sam was his, and would never be anything close to theirs.

It’s a fantasy. It’s an old, well-worn fairytale Dean told himself countless nights in his dreams and hated himself for when he woke up. It’s one of the cruelest parts of him, wanting to take something like that from Sam–

“Dean. I said, come here.”

There’s nowhere to run, so Dean opens his eyes, puts down the finishing brush and turns on his knees to face Sam.

“Get up,” Sam says softly. “Come to me.” He’s so beautiful. He’s Dean’s whole world.

Dean obeys, gets up and walks over to stand before Sam’s chair. He’s towering over Sam like this, and starts to bend his knees, to get down so they’re at equal level but Sam stops him with a hand on his hip. With his other hand, Sam grabs Dean’s wrist and places Dean’s palm on his own cheek, holds it there. Dean can’t help himself, he strokes the tender skin underneath Sam’s eye with his thumb, an instinct, and Sam’s eyes flutter for a brief second.

God fucking damn it.

“Why couldn’t you see it?” Sam asks him, looking up at Dean with stars in his eyes. He’s wear cut off jean shorts and a soft cotton button-up, completely open. His torso and chest are covered in marks. Dean’s mouth, sucked into his skin.

“You can’t just say shit, Sammy,” Dean tells him, trying to get him to understand. “When you were with someone else, you can’t say you’d'a let me–you don’t know what I–” Dean swallows, grips Sam’s jaw harder. Sam moans softly, pupils going wide. Dean shakes his head. “I’m serious, Sam. You don’t mean it. I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

Sam’s lip curls. “I wanted you to,” he rasps. “I’m not just saying shit. I would have left anyone, I would have done anything. We could’ve been anywhere, and if you told me to bend over I would have, I swear–”

Dean slips his palm over Sam’s mouth. “You’re gonna kill me again,” Dean says, meaning it.

For a moment, Sam just stares up at him like that, Dean’s hand shutting him up. He’s half hard in his pants, Dean can see, but there’s something in his eyes. Sadness? Anger? Dean can’t even tell, can’t even think, doesn’t know how to cope.

“You wanted a wife,” Dean tries, almost laughing through the words. It sounds ridiculous except that it’s true.

Sam pulls Dean’s hand away. His mouth parts slightly before he speaks. Sam’s always been the more dangerous than Dean, no matter what anyone says.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Sam says quietly. His own hands are moving. He stretches one up to rest flat at the hollow of Dean’s throat, and the other he slips beneath Dean’s shirt, scratching his nails over Dean’s belly and making him hiss. “Did you know I hated everyone you ever slept with? I wanted….” Sam shuts his eyes, tips his chin back. “I wanted to kill them, Dean. I wanted them dead.”

Dean’s stomach swoops and he sinks to his knees finally, gets himself between Sam’s spread legs. He ducks to kiss Sam’s bare knee. “Sam.”

“I mean that literally,” Sam continues, hands in Dean’s hair now, the back of his neck, his shoulders. “You know how scary that is? To look at someone who never hurt you? Who never did anything but sleep with your brother and you want to fucking kill them? Of course I wanted a wife. I wanted…I wanted to be normal. But if you’d given me this,” Sam says, and rolls his whole body in a motion that makes Dean dizzy, “then none of it would have mattered. I wouldn’t have wanted to kill anyone, because you’d be mine. I didn’t want a wife. I wanted…salvation. I wanted you.”

“Sam,” Dean groans, kissing along the inside of Sam’s denim-clad thigh. He thinks he’s crying a little. Sam’s hands are brushing over his cheeks, thumbing away the tears.

Maybe Dean is going to die all over again, with the smell of Sam, right here where it’s strongest, filling up his nose and making him shake all over. He lets the denim of Sam’s shorts drag rough and dry over his slack lips, his tongue, as he moves his mouth up, up. Sam’s so hard now, the full, gorgeous length of him straining against the fly.

Dean stops there, rests his open lips over the bulge and breathes in. Sam whimpers. So pretty.

“You got me, baby,” Dean whispers finally, voice hoarse from want and tears. He drags his teeth over the line of Sam’s cock through the denim and Sam whines, arching up into the sensation, fuck, it’s so good. “Gonna let me make you come?”

“Oh fuck, Dean,” Sam groans, fingernails scratching over Dean’s scalp.

“Yeah, you are. Gonna let me do whatever I want, huh,” Dean murmurs, going to undo the zip of Sam’s shorts. Sam’s not wearing any underwear, because this is goddamn Heaven, so Dean gets to the curve of his pretty cock right away. He wraps his hand around the hard heat of it and strokes how he’s already learned Sam likes best.

“Look, baby.”

Sam pants hard and bites his lip, hips twitching.

“I said, look, Sammy,” Dean repeats, reaching up and gripping Sam’s chin, tilting it so Sam looks down. “See how pretty we look? See how nice that is, me making you feel good?”

At his words, Sam blurts precome and together they watch it slide from the lovely pink tip of Sam’s cock down over Dean’s fingers. It makes the wet sounds louder and Dean’s dick throbs at that.

“Oh, fuck.” Sam’s voice is hoarse, almost gone entirely. He’s staring now, just like Dean wanted him to, his eyes blown black and his mouth sagging open.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, mesmerized by it, watching how he works Sam’s cock. God, he’s got a gorgeous dick, of course he does. He can see Sam’s balls pulling tight.

Right then Sam’s suddenly whines, almost panicked, a high-pitched gorgeous thing and his hand shoots out, grips Dean’s wrist as if to ensure Dean doesn’t stop. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sam gets out in a rush, breathing rough through it. “M’gonna, oh God.”

“Do it,” Dean snarls, watching it, watching Sam’s dick start to twitch and flush an even deeper shade of red. He can feel Sam’s toes curling on his lap and Sam’s thigh is tensing tight under his other hand. “Fuckin’ do it, Sam, know you wanna.”

“Yeah,” Sam moans. He’s drooling a little and that’s so hot Dean’s head spins. Sam’s gonna crush Dean’s wrist he’s gripping so tight. “Dean—” Sam starts to say, chokes on the syllable, then rushes out, “fuck, m’coming, m’coming, yeah.”

Come pulses out sluggish and thick from Sam’s cock, thick globs of it and it just keeps going, fuck, he’s creaming up so much.

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean says hoarsely, still working Sam through it. His hand is drenched in come and the sound of it—the most obscene thing he’s ever heard.

“S’good,” Sam slurs, in a way that Dean is definitely not going to forget for the rest of eternity, he sounds so fucking blissed. He’s still coming, he’s so good, Dean loves him so much.

As the pulses slow down, come seeping from the slit, Sam moves to wrap his own fingers around Dean’s on his cock and they bring Sam through last of his orgasm together. Sam moans with perverse sounding relief at the end, going so boneless he slumps in the chair a little. 

“Swear to God I wanna make you come forever,” Dean whispers, letting go of Sam’s cock so that it falls to the crease of his thigh, still swollen and perfect. He runs the backs of his fingers over the length of it reverently and ducks in to press the lightest kiss there too before leaving it alone so Sam can come down all the way.

Sam laughs breathlessly, hands back in Dean’s hair. His dirty hand will be getting come in there and Dean cannot care less. Heaven or a shower will take care of it, either way.

“Feel free,” Sam drawls, sounding so, so satisfied.

Dean hums. Sam thinks he’s joking. Dean absolutely is not. It’s addictive, getting Sam off, making him lose it, making him float high on endorphins and sex. Smelling his come. Dean shivers, and kisses across Sam’s abdomen from hipbone to hipbone. He could definitely do this until the universe implodes.

With sticky fingers, Dean carefully tucks Sam’s softening cock back in his shorts and zips and buttons him up.

“You ain’t allowed to quote me on this but you’re perfect,” Dean tells him

Sam laughs again, and combs through Dean’s hair again. “Stand up. Lemme do you.”

Dean shakes his head, scoots back and tugs at Sam’s calf. “Just—just get down here and kiss me.”

Sam raises a brow.

“C’mon, come give your big brother a kiss.”

Sam flushes bright red, his pupils going huge again. “Jesus, Dean,” Sam says, like Dean’s killing him he’s so turned on by that.

Without further protest, Sam slips off the chair and straddles Dean’s lap, the whole too big too broad weight of him. He is perfect. He’s perfect.

“Yeah, you like that? Being good for your big brother?”

“Dean,” Sam flat-out whines, in the sweetest baby brother voice. “Gonna get me hard again already, fuck.”

“Fine by me,” Dean rumbles, meaning it.

Dean gets a hand on Sam’s hip and pulls him close, their chests touching, Sam’s ass over his cock. Sam’s has to crane his neck slightly to kiss Dean but he does, just like Dean wanted. He keeps his mouth loose, lets their tongues touch between parted lips first, just a brush, a taste.

“Dean,” Sam says, breathing ghosting out and then goes ahead and kisses Dean properly, mouth hungry and soft. 

When Dean gets his hands on Sam’s ass, Sam doesn’t waste a second before starting to grind his hips tight and good over Dean’s cock, the rough denim of their jeans providing a harsh bit of friction that is just delicious.

“I do,” Sam says, words buzzing over Dean’s mouth. “I do like it, being good for you. For my b-big brother, oh God. I like it so much, Dean, all I ever wanted—mine, my big brother.”

Fuck. Dean’s gonna come so fast. Fuck. Sam’s hard again, just like that, the stiff bulge of his cock in his jeans bumping against Dean’s belly with every grind.

“It’s cuz you are, you’re my baby brother, huh?” Dean mutters, kissing down Sam’s jaw and neck again, trying to eat him alive.

Sam whines, Dean can feel him nodding frantically as his hands scrabble all over Dean’s shoulders. Nothing could have prepared Dean for how desperate Sam is for it, every time, how endlessly he needs this from Dean.

“Mine to take care of,” Dean pants, cock starting to twitch, hips circling up from the ground to meet Sam’s. “Prettiest little brother in the world and all mine, isn’t that right? So good for me too. Gonna make your big brother come cuz you’re so good.”

“Ah, ah,” Sam moaning, sounds delirious and he’s moving frantically on Dean’s lap, like he’s riding Dean’s dick. “Fuck, keep talking, Dean, k-keep—I’m gonna come again—”

Dean’s brain is melting out of his ears and his breath is coming out choppy, it’s hard to talk but he’ll do it for Sam. He’ll do anything for Sam.

“Baby brother,” Dean whispers in Sam ear, dragging his teeth over the shell of it. “Always been mine, mine to fuck. Ain’t no one fucked you right, did they? They weren’t me. They weren’t your big brother, hm? You needed me—needed to be my baby brother so I could do it right, take care of you—”

“Dean,” Sam says and he sounds so slutty and sweet Dean might pass out. He gets in one last desperate, uncoordinated grind and freezes, dick pressed close so Dean can feel how it kicks through his shorts, how the denim gets wet.

“Oh, fuck, Sammy,” Dean says into the hollow of Sam’s throat. “So hot, that’s so hot, baby. Fuck, m’gonna come.”

“Come for your little brother,” Sam slurs into his ear and Dean does. Hard.

He thinks he’s honest-to-God whimpering, can’t be sure, but his hips up are tucked up off the ground, pressing his dick to Sam’s ass and the inside of his jeans are getting so fucking sticky, making a terrible mess. Sam holds him through it, hands all over him, soft mouth on his cheek and ear and shoulder.

“Holy fuck,” Dean gasps when he stop pulsing in his pants. His dick is still twitching, like the nerves are stunned by the orgasm.

Sam hums in agreement. “We are so fucked up.” He says it like it’s the best thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're inclined, I _feast_ upon kudos and comments, it means so much to me. I reply to all comments!
> 
> The tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://hathfrozen.tumblr.com/post/645946878719115264/desire-like-a-monster-author-hathfrozen) if you'd like to reblog. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


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